


Marked

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of body alteration, Mild Body Worship, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: Shiro is self conscious over the stretch marks and scars left from the Galra torture and body alterations. Keith wants to reassure him that he still loves everything about him.  [Non-explicit, suggestions of smut.]





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> one-shot drabble suggestion for hurt/comfort fluff. find more of my work and commission information at http://ecrituredudesir.tumblr.com/

The first time they do anything more than kiss after Shiro’s return from Galra capture, Keith notices the other’s hesitance to remove his clothing. Before Kerberos, Keith had been fond of seeing the other work out casually in his barracks room, the sinew of muscle flexing across his back as shoulder blades met, the flex of his arms lifting his own weight. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen that yet, he hadn’t seen the other bare any more skin beyond the length of his forearm under his shirt, and the slip of skin above his collar. 

Even with Keith straddled flush in Shiro’s lap, he could pick up at the other’s tension when his thumbs trailing the hem of his skin-tight shirt. It’s when he dips his thumb under that fabric that Shiro pulls away from where he’d been pressing kisses to Keith’s jaw and catches Keith’s hand. Keith’s gaze tears away from where his eyes had almost hyper-focused on where the fabric ad lifted, and settles on the other’s gaze instead, inquisitive as to why the other had stopped him. 

“…It’s… not like before. The Galra changed more than my arm.” Shiro, started, his grip loosening now that he had given Keith some sort of warning over what to expect. It only concerned Keith more, and gingerly, he used his free hand to press against Shiro’s shoulder until Shiro’s back hit the pillows behind him. 

“It’s fine,” Keith promised, preparing himself for whatever the other was warning him of, both hands moving down to Shiro’s shirt to slide his palms against the skin. The fabric bunched at his wrists, and as he slid his bare palms up the other stomach first, relishing in the skin under his fingertips. Shiro’s cautious anxiety was purely about the aesthetic of what Keith could feel under the pads of his fingers; small divets of the skin, where the skin had been stretched too quickly, where the muscle mass Shiro had been forced to put on had developed preternaturally. Keith didn’t know if it was the food he had been given, the hours fighting for his own life, or druid magic, but Shiro had been left with a little stretch marks across the waist line, arching gingerly up against the formation of his abdominal muscles. He was littered with scarring, from what Keith was sure had been battle, torture, or a terrifying mixture of both. He knew that Shiro could be wary of his arm at times, in the subtle intimacies of their make-out sessions in the last weeks after forming Voltron, but he supposed he could understand the wariness here, too.

“Is this what you were worried about?” Keith asked, mauve gaze rising to focus on the dark flush of shame on Shiro’s expression. Shiro’s silence said all, and Keith let the push of his shirt cease just below Shiro’s pectorals. One hand lingered there, holding up Shiro’s shirt, while the other brushed his palm back down over the ‘damage’ to his skin, before settling to curve along his hip. 

“It’s fine,” Keith muttered again, repeating himself as if to convince them both of his words, sliding to rest his weight against Shiro’s thighs rather than his hips. “You’re beautiful. No matter how you’ve changed, you’re still Shiro,” He mumbled, leaning over to arch low, pressing his first kiss to one scar that stretched just under where the hem of his shirt stopped. While he knew Shiro would question the word beautiful, compliments from Keith had been rare and shy, before Kerberos, and even now, he was fumbling a little on how to be sweet. He’d seen it in movies, in the human saturation of romance in film, and now he was trying is best. Shiro found it flattering, and endearing. 

“You’re no different. No matter if they changed your body. You’re still you,” he spoke in between kisses graced across the other’s skin. His thumb brushes with utter reverence down one of the stretch marks that curved down the slope of his abs, peppering a kiss at the tip, then along where it disappeared under the edge of his pants. It’s a reverence, a promise that Keith thought no differently of him, that he didn’t find him unattractive or deformed. 

“Keith-“

Keith lifted his hand from where he’d held back the shirt, trusting the bunched fabric to stay for long enough to press a finger to Shiro’s lips. His little kisses to Shiro’s skin were pleasant, and sweet, but he fully intended to show Shiro that he would not hesitate to love every inch of him—no matter how much of it was different from what he remembered. 

“Let me learn your body again, Shiro.” 

The fingers at his stomach dipped lower, tucking under the hem of his pants, and Shiro’s breath hitched in his throat as he let himself relax enough to allow Keith to explore him.


End file.
